More Than Words
by onlystardust
Summary: All he has are his words, useless, worthless, unspoken words, but she needs more. Aiden never forgot/Emily never let herself forgive - he was always her weakness.


A/N: a one-shot because I can't stop writing about this gorgeous Brit, they are my OTP and I desperately want to believe that they are endgame. I appreciated all the love that I received on my last one-shot, so thank you for that - enjoy.

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Words fail her.

She is abandoned, stranded, struggling for air. Her throat is raw, fingers carve crescents into her palms as she clenches her fists shut, eyes burn from the tears she refuses to shed because tears are a weakness, he is a weakness, he is _her_ weakness, her vulnerability, and he will be the one who causes it all to collapse. "You don't believe me." he says softly, eyes fixed on the floorboards, a frown set in place, and she sees the look of dejection that taints his features, feels a pang of guilt for being the cause of it, but then she reminds herself that these are just words, only words.

He is usually a calm and collected man of smiles, kind words and a well trained temper, but he slowly starts to crack, starts to shatter, at the sound of such suffocating silence. He makes a sound, a tiny noise that is nearly inaudible, of barely suppressed agony. "I'm not leaving," he says, words soft, sincere, sweet, but they are only words, "I won't leave you," he declares, but she is inclined to disagree, to doubt, to detach herself from him to prevent the pattern from repeating.

"You left before, Aiden." she reminds him, because he did, because habits are difficult to break, because human nature stutters but it rarely ever alters entirely, "And you'll do it again." he flinches away from those words, winces as though they cause him actual physical pain.

"I meant what I said, Amanda." he declares, biting down on the bitterness that he can taste on the tip of his tongue, bitter because he truly believed that they were beyond this, because he thought she meant it when she said, "We can do this together, Aiden." but she lied, there is no unity here, and she will continue to lie, to herself and to him, and he will leave again, because _that_ is their human nature, their unbreakable habit.

He grimaces, because there are words, so many words, useless, worthless, unsaid and left too late, swirling throughout his thoughts, taunting him, teasing him, telling him that it is far too late to fix this. "This _is_ different." he says, enunciating slowly and clearly, as though articulation will convince her but she remains unmoved and seemingly unaffected.

"How is it different?" she asks.

"I'm not here because I have to be here," he says, torn between anger and anguish, frustration and fury, and although she acts the part of indifference, of calm and collectedness, her mask is slowly beginning to break too, "I'm here because I _want_ to be here; not that it matters, but there _is_ a difference," he says, because ever since he found her, the fear of losing her again is with him always, plaguing his mind and constantly haunting him. "I've wanted to be here since day one, Amanda. I took my time, I know, but I'm here now. Isn't that what matters? Doesn't that count?"

She shakes her head, a sad smile on her lips as she steps away, "That's not enough, Aiden. It's not enough." she says, because it has to be more than this, more than words, he knows this, can see it in her expression, in the tiny crease of her brow and the glistening of her glossy eyes. He strides forward, torn between taking hold of her hands or taking her in his arms, "Let me try again." he pleads, panic in his eyes, desperation in his words.

"Why are you here, Aiden?" she asks, exasperated.

He smiles, shortly and somewhat shyly, "Because you are." he says, smile fading as he recognises that look of resignation in her eyes, she is giving up, if not already given up, and his fears are only confirmed as she slowly begins to retreat. Her brown eyes glisten as she gives up, on him, on them, on herself and her pursuit of peace and happiness, "That's not good enough, Aiden." she regretfully reminds him, but he refuses to accept this, refuses to accept that this is it, the end, because this is their journey, the one they embarked upon together.

He tries desperately to hold onto her, his fingers snake around her wrist as she starts to turn away, starts to turn her back on him, and as he speaks his words are rushed, impatient, desperate, because this can't be it, "It's not a matter of want so much as it is a _need_. A necessity. It's like breathing, Amanda. I have to be here. I need to be here," but these are only words to her, sweet sounds, white lies, temporary illusions, luxuries that she can no longer afford.

"You left." she says, bitterness creeping into her words.

He longs to hold her closer, to bury his face in her hair, the crook of her neck, "I know. Do you think I don't know that, Amanda? Do you think I don't remember? I had to live with that regret and that guilt every single day. I did what I thought was best." She has heard this before, heard how he tormented himself over it, but she tortured herself too, it was absolute agony to be parted from the first person she trusted in years. "I wouldn't have left," she tells him, because it's the truth, because he left, left without her, left when he swore they would leave together. "I wouldn't have left without you, Aiden, and I wouldn't have left you alone."

He nods, earnest eyes swirl with remorse and regret as he remembers, always remembers. "I don't know how to fix this, Amanda. Tell me what to do," he pleads, the thumb of his pad lightly brushes against the inside of her wrist, and she struggles to stay strong as she hears sounds of such sincerity and sorrow. "Tell me what to say," he begs, holding both of her hands in his own.

"Words can only do so much." she regretfully informs him, hands shaking only slightly as she attempts to retract them from his hold, but he won't let go, he can't let go, he holds her hands in his as though his life depends on it, pressing fervent kisses to her hands, her wrists, before he attempts to hold her to him.

She stiffens as his arms encircle her, "All I have are words," he whispers, arms wrapping around her waist as he holds her to him, holds her while he can, words flooding his mind, words that he should have said, could have said, words that he tries to say now. "Things I should have said but didn't," pausing, he presses a kiss to her hair, she can feel her determination wavering as he whispers to her, whispers words she rendered insufficient and yet as he speaks, soft and slow and the sincerest she has ever heard him, it nearly suffices. "I left you once, Amanda, but I won't make that mistake again. I'm not that man anymore."

"They're just words." she hears herself say, throat raw, eyes wet from remembering, always remembering, and it has to be more, more than this, more than them. He pulls away, that same sadness in his eyes as when he lost Colleen, because he is losing Amanda too, he can feel it, feel it as she pulls away, always away, never stays too close for fear of falling, "No more words, then?"

He kisses her before she can answer, kisses her softly, kisses her like he did before he left her, left without her, his hands around her waist, hers in his hair. He knows that words aren't enough, knows that a simply sorry will not suffice, nor will an embrace, but this feels like enough, enough for now, enough for this moment. He will stay, stay with her, stay by her side, because he has to wait until the day arrives where words will be enough, where they will mean something, anything, everything to Amanda, and that will be the day when he tells her that he loves her, that he loved her all along.

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For Juarhala.

I own nothing.

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End file.
